Cold Flame
by wackystrings123
Summary: A collection of drabbles and/or oneshots about Zutara.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So...this is my first A:LA fan fiction. I've been reading them for over a year now and have had sooooooo many ideas (all Zutara) and I am finally sitting down to actually write them all. So, yeah, here's my first story; a collection of drabbles, oneshots and short stories. Hope you enjoy them.**

**Disclamer: I don't own A:LA or any of the characters only my own OCs that may or may not show up in this story.**

* * *

**********A/N#2: This was originally meant to be a drabble but for some reason I was not made to write those (SUCKS!) so it evetually became a sort of oneshot. **

******This particular one is dark but I just LOVE dark Zutara... It's hot :) This is my first attempt at a story based on dark themes and torture so I hope it's okay.**

******Please read and enjoy. Constructive criticism is highly appreciated. :)**

**Summary: **After Aang's fall in the Crystal Catacombs, Katara is captured by Zuko and Azula and handed over to The Fire Lord who then uses her to attempt to extract information about the rebels of the Southern and Nrothern Water Tribes as well as the Earth Kingdom rebels. He also uses her as bait.

**Rating: **T (or M, depending on how sensitive you are)

**Warnings: **Dark themes, coarse language, violence, mentions of torture and light smut.

**Title: **The Prisoner

* * *

She is the Fire Lord's most important prisoner; a close ally of the Avatar, princess of the Southern Water Tribe.

She was bait.

For months he kept her, beneath the Fire Palace, away from the moon and water. He starved her, beat her and tortured her but still she refused to give the whereabouts of her father and friends. And in return he would double the beatings and the burns while she fought to stay strong.

Her once maroon prison rags were black with filth and hung off her skeletal body; her dark hair, once voluminous and luscious hung like limp threads, caked with dirt and matted with blood, clung to her face and framed her thin shoulders. Her lips are thin and chapped, her cheeks sunken, her skin bruised, dirty and bloody but still she fought.

Her once vibrant blue eyes were cold, hate-filled and dim,her hands blackened and burned, fingers bony. Her legs, bared to the cold and the dark were thin, the skin hidden beneath cuts, bruises, dried blood and dirt. She had come to accept this new life of pain and captivity as long as it meant her friends and family were safe.

That is until his first visit.

After enduring beatings and threats at the hands of the Fire Lord for several hours, she is finally able to curl up in a corner, once they have left, hold her knees and pray to Yue. This has become a normal routine for her until today.

After months of being in the Fire Nation, he visits. He is wearing a red robe with a hood pulled low over his face, when he enters. At first she doesn't hear him, too caught up in her prayers to notice a new, unfamiliar figure. He pauses at the door, drinking in the waterbender he had fought so many times before, taking in her broken and frail state. His chest suddenly feels awfully tight and he wants to throw up his dinner.

Everyday for the past few months after visiting his uncles' empty cell to clear his thoughts and seek advice from an empty room once filled with wisdom, he stands outside the door to hers and stares at it, unable to decide whether he is ready to see her or not. He wants to but he is scared. He could not stand to see the hate and disgust directed towards him. He deserved it, he knew that but knowing it and actually seeing it were completely different. But today, he is unaware of why and how, and he does not hesitate at her door after he sends the guards away. He does not pause to think or brace himself, he just walks in.

The first thing he notes is the stench of blood, sweat and stale dry air. He suddenly feels very hot under his robes and his throat burns. He ignores these discomforts, clenches his fists and continues forward, gold eyes scouring the darkness for any sign of a body. He sees her, a mass of stringy hair and dirty rags, huddled in a far corner of the small cell. He cannot see her face, her head is bowed, but he sees her bared arms and legs and nearly gags. Another painful stab to his chest and he turns away. But only for a brief moment and turns to face her again, face expressionless, body tense. As he nears her cell, several small rodents scamper past him, brushing the hem of his robe, but they are unable to tear his attention from her. He hears her soft murmurs and realises she is praying. He almost turns back, feeling he is intruding in on a private moment but something makes him stay and walk forward.

It is not until he opens the iron bars, disturbing the eerie silence, that her murmurs stop and her head jerks up so fast he wonders if she has hurt herself. He freezes at the bars and stares at her, still and says nothing and stays still. Then slowly, across of scaring her, he pulls his hood back. He watches her expression change from one of confusion, to shock, to panic then finally settle on hate, disgust,betrayal and something he is so familiar with it does not take long for him to recognise it. His presence caused her pain.

"What do you want?" she finally spits so venomously he feels his skin start to burn. He doesn't speak. He sits in front of her folds his legs and just watches her, heart breaking further with each passing second. This seems to anger her for she suddenly leaps to a stand, swaying slightly and points an accusatory bony finger at him. "What? You're here to witness your 'victory' firsthand?" she sneers, shoulders trembling as she fights to catch her breath. Again he say nothing and bows his head in shame and guilt, aware of the fact that she is in this current position because of his own inability to make the right decisions.

"I'm sorry." He murmurs and for once he truly means it.

"Fuck you Zuko!" She screams, voice hoarse and shaky. She is on the verge of tears.

He is too.

"You honestly think you can waltz in here and apologise and everything becomes fine and dandy?" he flinches. "Well guess what? Nothing is that easy! But of course," She continues bitterly, "for stupid, spoilt arrogant, stuck up Prince like you, it is! I trusted you! And I thought you really had changed, but I was wrong and that cost the world! A-and now...Aang... He's dead and no one can bring him back!" It is then he realises that the waterbender is unaware that the Avatar is still in fact alive. He opens his mouth to say this when she suddenly falls heavily on to the cold stone floor. Their reactions are instant. He is up and holding her within seconds and she is lashing out and attempting to scratch his face with her nails and bite his hands.

She is awfully strong and determined for someone as frail and skeletal looking as she, he notes.

After managing to push her off him, he leaves, just like that. Leaves her to accept defeat and bury herself in her pain and sorrow.

He visits again a few days later. Her condition has worsened drastically, she looks even skinnier than before. His heart catches in his throat but only for a moment. This time he doesn't hesitate.

He enters her cell and sits before her, as she watches him carefully, he reaches inside of his robes-he hears her breathing hitch-and pulls out something wrapped in cloth, which he slowly and carefully places in front of her. Her wild eyes dart to the bundle then back to him in question. He says nothing and moves back to lean against the cold wall, long legs stretched out in front of him.

He faces away from her, pretending to find the moulding wooden door far more interesting than the terrified prisoner. A tense silence follows in which the Fire Prince is watching the waterbender from the corner of his eye and said waterbender is eyeing the bundle before her with apprehension. Finally, with small tentative fingers, she reaches out and touches the cloth then wrenches her hand back as though she has been burned. She does this again, but keeps her hand on the roll for longer.

Unwanted tears suddenly spring to Zuko's eyes. This was the girl he had fought in the North Pole, the girl who would rather die than give up her friend. The girl who had beat his ass countless times and made him look like a helpless loser. The same girl with a temper that could rival his, is sitting in a cold, dark dungeon, utterly defenceless and weak, terrified of a mere, fist sized roll of cloth. Zuko has never hated himself more than he does at that very moment. He watches as Katara finally takes the ball into her hand and with shaky fingers and ragged breaths, unwraps the ball. Zuko is now openly watching her, trying to gauge her reaction, anxious even.

A small strangled sound escapes her when her eyes land on the small ball of rice in her hand. He wonders just how long it has been since she last ate. From the way she is staring at the rice it must have been too long. He waits. She does nothing but eye it warily yet hungrily.

Zuko is tempted to speak but quickly decides against it and eventually she lifts the rice to her face, sniffs it once, twice then takes a small bite, quickly followed by a larger, more needy bite and on the fifth bite, the rice is gone. Her head shoots up and she looks at him, almost pleading. He sighs softly and shakes his head.

A moment passes and the needy look is wiped off her face. Without a word or "thank you" she turns away and faces the wall.

He leaves.

He returns three days later this time with two rice balls and a dumpling, stashed far in his robes so as to remain undetected by the prison guards, his father and Azula.

Again she eats the food, says nothing then turn away. He stares at her thin back for a few moments before he finally leaves.

On the fourth visit he comes with a surprise.

He comes with water.

She stares at it, amused. "What makes you think I won't bend and escape?"

He chuckles, dry and humourless, "Well, for starters, you can barely stand, and," he lifts his head and regards her with a sincere expression. "I trust you."

She tenses, takes the water and turns away.

He leaves after collecting the empty container from her.

The next time he visits, she has a deep, nasty cut running from her neck to her shoulder. Her arm is limp against her side.

He gives her the water and rice and leaves with the empty containers.

Later in the night, next to the naked, sleeping form of his girlfriend, he weeps silently for the waterbender.

He finally decides to tell her about the Avatar.

"He's alive, though in a comatose state. He is with your brother and the rebels." Her face brightens and her eyes sparkle. Zuko sees green.

He knows it is pathetic to feel jealous over a stupid Water Tribe peasant girls' joy at hearing that her friend, the only hope in ending the century long war, is alive. He leaves quickly, stuffing the cloths and containers within his robes.

The next time he visits his face is devoid of any emotion. He does not bring food or water nor is he wearing a hood. She realises something is not right when he strides forward and roughly grabs her hair, ripping several strands from her tender scalp. She cries out, more in shock than pain.

"Where are the rebels?" he growls, forcing her to her trembling feet. She sways and clutches his powerful arm. She is afraid of this Zuko. When she does not respond he flings her across the cell like a weightless rag doll which she quickly realises is how he probably sees her.

She cries out again when her already sore and wounded back slams hard against the solid wall. He is quick. He has already loosened his trousers and is shoving her against the hard wall, her bare shoulders scraping painfully against the rough surface.

"Ah!" she wails and with quaking hands tries pushing him away.

But it is pointless. He has not been beaten, starved and kept from his element for nearly a year. She has.

He has hiked up her rags to her hips now, batting away her attacks with little effort.

She wants to scream; she wants to die. She wants her mother.

Tears stream down her face in giant rivulets. "Zuko...p-please..." she screams, she begs, she struggles but all in vain. He pushes against her and she slumps against him, loud sobs racking her body until she catches a movement in the shadows and everything falls into place.

Everything makes sense; she now understands why Zuko is doing this. He is pushing against her, fast jerky movements and he is grunting, quite loudly, his face buried in the crook of her neck, large warm hands hold her thighs around his hips. He is moving against her but he is not quite inside her; she still has her innocence.

Katara decides to play along, crying out at the right moments, screaming bloody murder and digging her bloodied fingernails into the soft material of his shirt. Finally he groans and shudders against her and with what little strength she has left, she bends the blood from the wounds on her legs onto herself and him before passing out in his arms.

Zuko has never hated himself more. Leaving the broken girl in a crumpled, bloody mess on the floor, he exits the prison room and into the filthy corridor, where his sister leans against the wall comfortably, a wicked smile on her face. She pushes off the wall when her eyes land on him.

"Did you enjoy her, brother?" He scowls and continues walking briskly. She follows.

"I've had better." he lies.

Suddenly Azula cuts him off; she stands in front of him, face flawless black hair neat and gold eyes filled with malice. "You may have fooled father into believing that you actually hate the peasant with that little stunt, but I know better." Zuko scoffs, sidesteps her an stalk off. But she catches up quickly and easily. "You're weak Zuko and sooner or later father will see that an make me his heir."

Fuelled by rage, Zuko attempts to push his sister aside but he intercepts hid motion and easily avoids it. "I'm not weak." he hisses, his failed attempt not affecting him by much, "compassion does not make a person weak, it makes them stronger" and with those last words he walks off, leaving a princess furious and shocked.

As he strides away, confident for the first time in years, Zuko finally understands what his Uncle had been trying to tell him all those years; he now understands his destiny. He now knows the right thing to do.

...

She wakes up hours later feeling exhausted and drained. Her eyelids crack open and she groans when she shifts her body to get comfortable on the concrete floor. She aches all over, even worse than before. Water suddenly appears before her and she gladly accepts it greedily gulping it down without pausing to breathe. A soft chuckle tickles her sensitive ears.

"Take it easy," he says "It's not going anywhere."

She does not listen and ends up choking. After her coughing fit she raises her head to look at him, a bright blush on her face. She is surprised to find he is not wearing his robes, instead he is wearing clothes designed for stealth. He notices her confusion and smiles.

"I'm getting you out of here."

They run for what feels like hours, darting behind large objects or pressing up against walls. Her chest burns and her legs ache but the thought of freedom keeps her going and she pushes herself to keep up with the Fire Prince.

And finally they are out of the palace and she sees the moon and feels the breeze for the first time in almost a years. Tears spring to her eyes and she crumpled against Zuko. He catches her and pulls her to a clump of thick bushes where they hide. It is then that she notices he is carrying a bag, from which he pulls out clothes and papers.

"Wear these." he instructs, shoving the clothes into her arms. He has given her a disguise, much like the one she had worn during her stay in he Fire Nation, undercover as Sapphire Fire. She does as he instructs, too excited to even think about modesty. He abruptly turns away, cheeks pink. When she is finally dressed she kneels next to him and waits.

"Go to the nearest port, there is a boat waiting, find Captain Jee and give him these." he shoves three sheets of parchment into her hands. "He will take you to the Foggy Swamp. Your brother, your father and the Avatar will be there. They know you are coming."

And with that he moves to stand but she grasps his arm in an iron clad grip and pulls him back down. Her eyes are wide and her face is flushed. He wants to kiss her.

So he does. It is slow and tender, merely a light brush of their lips until her hand finds its way around his neck and her fingers dive into his thick hair. She pulls his face closer and deepens the kiss, greedy for his lips. He groans softly and quickly complies. Katara, despite their current predicament, grins.

They pull away, their insatiable thirst for one another heightening. Zuko almost pulls her back for more but the impending danger looming nearby stops him. He shakes his head and turns away from her. This is where he says goodbye.

She waits.

He speaks words she had not expected.

"I love you." his lips are pressed against hers again. He does not need to explain, she understands. She kisses him back with equal need and desperation. He pulls away abruptly and leaves.

She reaches the Foggy Swamp within weeks and is reunited with her friends and family.

The Avatar awakens.

It is not until a month after her arrival that she hears the news.

This time his punishment was not the same as the last. This time he is not banished. This time there would be no next time.

He died for the Avatar to live; for there to be peace.

He died for her to be free.

Zuko died because he loved her.

And she would end the reign of the Fire Lord because she loved him back.

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**A/N: sniff* Originally, I had not planned for Zuko to die but afterwards I guess it sort of fit. I'm actually working on an alternate ending but I decided not to post it with this, it would sort of ruin the effect. I hope you liked it. Please criticise.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I would have had this up so much sooner, but for some reason, my Internet won't come on at all and if it does it's always for like a minute then goes down; so very annoying. And I can't get it fixed till my dad comes back and that'll be in September. So I'm rushing to post this. **

**Another thing, I'm won't update for the next few weeks, I'm going to the UK.**

** Enjoy this drabble :)**

...

**Summary**: Zuko and Katara share more than just secrets by the turtle duck pond.

**Rating**: K+

**Title**: Secrets

...

They were sitting by the turtle duck pond in the private gardens, tossing stale bits if bread at eager young turtle ducklings when she had asked the question. It was short, simple and to the point

"Do you love Mai?"

He hesitated, and not because he was shocked or taken aback by the question, but he just did not know how to answer it. He wanted to be honest with her.

"Not in the way I should."

She said nothing, only nodded in understanding and threw another piece of bread into the pond. He had leaned back onto his elbows, head now closer to hers than before.

"Do you love Aang?" She had looked at him then and he suddenly understood why she had asked.

"Not in the way I should" she said sincerely.

Neither, to this day, can tell you how it happened but soon after her revelation, their breaths were mingling, noses brushing, followed by a quick fusion of their lips.

Despite not knowing how it happened, they still don't regret it.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the delay I was abroad for the past few weeks. Thank you for your reviews though :)**

**Anyway, I'm moving!**

**I won't exactly shout "yay!" coz I'm moving from the beautiful, tropical, warm and sunny (with a gazillion beaches) smiling coast of Africa (YAY!) to…**

**Cold, dreary, FREEZING, constantly-annoying-drizzle (I mean why can't it just rain and get over with it?) England…YAY!**

**I don't _hate _England, but I don't love it either (I'm a California Girl :) But anyway I'm going off to college there, I decided last minute so I'll be late but I'll catch up.**

**So yeah, I'm hyping myself up for the cold…I'll be ready this time!**

**Anyway…**

**Takes place after the Puppetmaster. Enjoy and review and please excuse the grammar and spelling mistakes; it was kinda rushed. **

**Title**: The Spirit And I

**Rating: **K+

He was the last person she would have expected to run into.

Well, spirit; maybe.

She had heard stories about him, from Aang, a number of villagers from all over the world, and had even snuck out once to watch a play about him (the play had been terrible; he had been depicted to be a villain, stealing from the poor and killing innocents. But then again the theatre had been in the Fire Nation and he was an enemy of the Fire Nation...). But even the horrid play had done nothing to negate her opinion of him, in fact it only made her appreciate him even more!

He was a hero. He risked his own life to make the lives of others more bearable. He stole from the rich and greedy and selfish men-food, clothes, priceless antiques-and gave them to the poor, taking none for himself.

In a way she found she could relate to him. He did not turn his back on people who needed him, just like she refused to turn her back on that poisoned village, as The Painted Lady. They were a lot alike actually; hiding behind masks, living double lives, helping the needy yet receiving nothing in return but the gratification of helping someone in need.

Maybe that was the reason she idolised him so much.

He was a supposed "spirit" just like her.

Her heart stopped, as did the salty tears spilling out of her eyes. Her entire being was still with shock, awe and excitement. She wanted to squeal, to run up to him and wrap her arms around him and never let him go.

But she didn't.

Maybe it was because she had been so just distraught seconds ago that her excitement had not been so extreme. Or perhaps it was because her body was in shock and all of her limbs and organs at a sudden halt.

He was tall, a little on the skinny teenaged-boy side, but he was still quite muscular and held himself proudly, like someone of great importance making her doubt he was a simple refugee. The figure tight, black stealth clothing he wore did nothing to hide his powerful biceps and legs. His dual Dao swords were strapped to his back, easily accessible. Katara found herself staring at the hilt of the swords with apt fascination. He could do so much with them, such as rescuing Aang from Admiral Zhao, or defending a crowd of helpless villagers from brutality at the hands of bored Fire Nation soldiers.

Her eyes paused on the grinning white lips of the blue mask while her mind conjured an image of what his lips may look like; soft, pink and supple. Then they lifted to the black holes in the mask, where his eyes were, probably looking at her with the same interest and curiosity she had for him.

They stayed that way, staring at one another. Neither uttered a word until a twig snapped rather loudly, not too far to their right. The masked male reflexively dropped to a defensive stance, glanced around the started stepping back, away from Katara.

Desperate to extend her time with the masked vigilante she stepped forward rather quickly and reached out as if to grab him, despite the vast distance between them. "Wait!" she croaked, her voice choked and cracking from her sobbing fest prior to their meeting. The spirits' eyes darted to her outstretched hand then to her face as if in contemplation, but he stopped anyway.

"You're the Blue Spirit." she continued. Her tone made her words seem more like a statement than a question. Her words were filled with awe.

The spirit said nothing. _Of course he won't_, Katara realised, _he never speaks_. _No one knows what he sounds like; it's part of the whole aura of mystery...it's hot_.

A blush coated her cheeks at the thought and she ducked her head, praying he would not see her reddened cheeks. Because her head was bowed, she did not see the Blue Spirit take small, cautious steps towards her and when she did eventually lift her head she was startled by their sudden close proximity.

She held her ground, silently cussing his stealth and her stupid wandering thoughts. Up close, she could see his figure better. He certainly was hot.

His shirt was tight-fitting; it hugged his torso, showed of his chest and abdominal muscles, he sleeves wrapped around his muscular biceps, forearms, before disappearing into stark black gloves; his fingers were slim and long and quite strong looking. She wondered how they would feel in her hair. Her eyes travelled from his broad shoulders, along his powerful chest, to his slim waist, (skimming quickly over a particular spot in his lower regions), along his muscular legs and toned calves, to the black shoes that wrapped around his big feet.

When her eyes returned to his face, she was pleasantly surprised to find that he was also staring at her (or at least she hoped) through the eye holes of his mask. As if feeling her eyes on his face, he lifted his head slightly, as he towered over her. Again they stared at one another for several moments until Katara opened her mouth to speak, at the same time as he lifted a gloved hand to her face.

His thumb gently glided over her cheek, the softness of the silk cloth sliding in the lightest of touches along her dark skin. A breath shuddered past her parted lips and her eyes drifted shut as his thumb repeated the motion, his large hand now cupping the side of her face. She found herself leaning into his touch.

But all too soon he retracted his hand and her eyes flew open. The cloth on his thumb had come away damp. He stared at it.

Katara's hand rose to her face and she hastily wiped away the wetness of her tears. This did not go unnoticed by the Blue Spirit. His head lifted away from his thumb to her. Though he did not speak, she understood the question in his actions.

"I was forced to do something I didn't want to do." she said.

She watched, intrigued as his posture suddenly stiffened and his gloved hands curled into tight fists. He lifted his head to stare over hers, possibly looking for the one who had forced her to do what she had not wanted to. Katara placed her small hand on his chest, pushing him back softly and returning his attention to her.

She forced a smile, but she knew it was sad. "She's gone now." she could feel his astonishment and confusion when he tilted his head to one side slightly.

"She's a waterbender, like me." she explained, "and she can control people by bending the water in their blood during a full moon."

Beneath her palm she could feel his heart. It was like hers, pounding erratically.

"She was the cause of the missing villagers." The Blue Spirit nodded in understanding, though he did it slowly, as if not quite sure whether to believe her. "We found the missing villagers." She did not elaborate on who "we" was. "She had them chained up inside a cave under the mountain." Katara paused and let her hand fall from his body, "she said it was payback, for the Fire Nation leaving her to rot in prison." she spat at the ground distastefully. Her shoulders slumped, "and then she forced me to do it!" she wailed, a fresh batch of tears welling up in her eyes for the second time that night.

Her knees crumpled beneath her and she fell to the moist soil, burying her face in her hands, shoulders shaking as sobs wracked her body. She was a monster now; she was no better than Hama. She was now a danger to everyone, to Aang, to Toph and to Sokka. She hated herself. Never before in her life had Katara ever hated her ability to waterbend until that very moment. She _hated_ waterbending, it was now just another means of war and destruction.

So caught up in her hatred and despair was she that she had not registered the gentle arm that curled around her slim shoulders until her nostrils were invaded with the scent of smoke, sweat and spices (the scent was so very familiar but she could not sort through her thoughts and memories to place it) and her tear-stained face was pressed against warm, sturdy silk. Her fingers fell from her face to curl into the Blue Spirits' shirt.

He felt nice, safe, warm and comfortable. She found herself succumbing into him warmth, her body fell into his and she clutched him tighter.

They stayed that way, kneeling on the soft forest floor, his body wrapped around hers, his nimble fingers slid through the chocolate tresses cascading down her back and over shoulders, pulling the strands out of their confinement at the top of her head, feeling the weight of the thick strands in his palm before letting them fall down her back.

His hands exploring her hair soothed her. He was gentle, though she could tell their entire situation was unfamiliar to him; she liked knowing that what he was doing with her he had never done with anyone else before. She felt special.

Her tears subsided soon after but neither of them moved. Her face was still buried in the crook of his neck as she inhaled his all-too-familiar scent. She could feel his heart beat against hers and his soft steady breaths. His fingers stroked her scalp tenderly, tugging softly at knots in her hair, then falling to rub at her back and shoulders.

She was content, granted that she had no idea what her masked hero looked like, who he was or anything about him, she knew that she knew all that was necessary to know about him and that the Fire Nation was wrong; he wasn't a monster, he was a victim like her.

With this thought in her head, Katara lifted her head to stare at her saviour. One of her hands left his shirt and found the edge of his mask. The Blue Spirit's body stiffened beneath her and his hand moved so fast she didn't notice it until his fingers closed around her wrist. Tugging it away from his face, he shook his head: _No_.

She smiled, to show she understood and respected him. An awkward silence followed during which Katara averted her gaze and fidgeted nervously with her fingers. Should she? Would he let her? Maybe if... No?..._No_... Screw it, she would.

She returned her eyes back to the eyeholes of the grinning mask. She was nervous, she was anxious, panicking and feeling bold. "C-can I kiss you?"

She surprised herself. She had never been this bold; not with Jet, Haru or even Aang! But here she was, asking a complete _masked_ stranger if she could kiss him. This was not her. His silence robbed her of her confidence and she squeezed her eyes shut. She knew she shouldn't have. She was so stupid!

Then she felt his warm hand close around her chin and lifted her head. Her heart stuttered in her chest when her eyes locked on a pair of soft, pale pink lips. They weren't thin; they were just the perfect size and oddly familiar. She watched, entranced as his bright pink tongue darted past his lips to moisten them. Was he nervous like she was?

She lifted a trembling hand to his face to trace his lower lip with her forefinger. His breath was hot against her skin; it was hitched and uneven. It gave her the burst of confidence she needed and she leaned in and so did he.

His lips were silky and smooth, and he tasted like cinnamon and spices; she had never liked that taste better. Her heart was pounding frantically, her brain had become mush. She was floating, or rather, soaring through soft white clouds as his moist lips slid against hers softly.

His fingers slid through her hair once again and hers cupped his strong, pale, angular jaw. Her thumb stroked his skin, the light hint of stubble on his jaw tickled the pad of her thumb. The Blue Spirit's grip on her head tightened as he pulled their faces closer. His breath was warm and uneven on her skin as he pulled their lips more firmly against the other; she pressed into closer into him, her other hand clutching his shirt tighter with every small brush of their lips.

Suddenly it changed from the innocent and gentle brushes of skin against skin to something deeper, with more ferocity, passion and desperation. The blunt nails of his fingers dug into the tender skin of her scalp, drawing their faces closer and lips nearer.

This was nothing like the kisses she shared with Aang or the one she shared with Jet in the treehouse. This was neither gentle nor innocent or forceful; it was passionate and needy, sloppy and desperate and quite rough...it was perfect.

In their fight to lessen the distance between them, the edges of his mask began cutting into her cheek. At first the pain was barely there, then it began to hurt and she pulled back. The Blue Spirit immediately followed her and leaned forward to join their lips again. Only to pull back when he seemed realise their situation.

Before she could stop him he had already leapt to his feet and was quickly backing away, keeping his eyes on her.

Scrambling to her feet she tried to call him back desperately, "No! Wait!"

He stopped to yank his mask down over his face, shielding his supple lips from her view much to her disappointment. He held out his palm, motioning for her to stop, then he spoke. His voice was raspy and breathy and very, _very_ familiar.

"I'm sorry." he said before disappearing into the night.

Katara stood, feeling rejected and suddenly alone. "Me too."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Enjoy!**

* * *

**Title**: The Forbidden Fruit

**Rating**: T – language and content

...

Her small fingers slide through the silkiness of his shaggy hair, clutching the black strands tightly in her hands and tugging them as his hungry lips nip at the exposed skin on her neck.

Soft masculine grunts and hitched feminine moans fill the small classroom. He sits on the edge of the teachers' desk, she stands between his open thighs; their bodies press together firmly, hands roaming wildly, teeth scraping sore skin, tongues caught in a fierce duel which neither is willing to lose.

Her shirt has ridden up during their desperate kisses, revealing a flat, toned and brown stomach, to which his hungry fingers waste no time in exploring.

His hands, one pressed against the flatness of her belly, the other tangled in the thick mass of her soft chocolate hair, claw at her, grip her, possess her. She had been nothing but a body with shaky knees and trembling fingers when they had started but she had eventually bloomed from the inexperienced and innocent girl to a determined woman who now dominates him. It leaves him with shivers down his spine and sweaty palms. He wants her... But he cannot have her; they both know that.

She is like the forbidden fruit.

He yearns for her, aches for her. She aches for him too, he knows this. He wants to have her curl into him every night. He wants to wake up to her smile and dazzling blue eyes every morning. He wants to make her smile and laugh every second of every day. He wants to hold her whenever she cries, wants to be there for her. He wants her in his arms, wants to see her pupils dilate with desire, to hear her utter his name, over and over again like a prayer. He wants to comb his fingers through the luscious curls swirling around her shoulder, follow each and every tendril to its end-just below her bum.

He wants hers, so very much; almost enough to throw everything away. He realises then that he may be in love with this girl. He realises then just how _fucked_ he is.

A romantic relationship between a teacher and his student?

That is completely unheard of. Not only that, if they happen to get caught, he would spend the rest of his days at the Boiling Rock; a prison where no human has ever escaped alive. He doesn't want that especially if it means not being able to ever see her again. He doubts he would be able to cope...

But he doubts he would be able to cope either if he does not have her.

Zuko Sozin is undeniably, irreversibly, passionately and desperately in love with his student.

Agni help him.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you so much for your feedback, I really enjoy reading and learning from them. Keep 'em coming! XD**

**It's raining heavily over here, lots of thunder and lightning. It inspired this little drabble.**

**Enjoy! :)**

* * *

**Title:** The storm

**Summary:** Katara realises she is afraid of thunderstorms.

**Rating:** K+

…

Outside of her suite, lightning flashed menacingly across the starless black sky, promptly followed by the roaring, ground-shaking thunder.

Beneath her blankets, Katara shivered as eerie shadows danced across the wall, floor and furniture in her room. The room terrified her.

So unused to have such expansive space belonging to her and her alone, she had tremors of fright wracking her small body and the relentless storm outside did nothing to help.

Everything was so new and foreign to her; from the uncomfortable heat, the space, the silken nightdress adorning her figure, the soft sheets, large bed...everything was so damn different.

Another roll of thunder rattled her room, causing her to shriek in fright and force her head beneath her pillows, trying to muffle out the outside world.

She felt silly, like a little child! She was a _master water_bender for La's sake and here she was, shivering in terror and hiding beneath blankets. Master Pakku, Sokka, Toph and even Zuko would laugh if they heard maybe even Aang and Suki too!

No. She had to be brave; it was just a storm anyway...

Thunder blasted again, this time louder. With a terrified yelp, Katara scrambled out of her bed, her long, bare legs tangling momentarily within the dark sheets before she managed o pull them free. She was out of the door within seconds and darting past sleeping guards and into the nearest room...which just happened to be Zuko's.

_Oh spirits_.

She stood, like a caught moose-deer. Her legs were trembling, hair falling out of her braid. Her eyes were wide with fright and her clothes a disarray. She must have looked a sight. But before she could turn to flee, another clap of thunder sounded and a high pitched squeal passed through her lips.

Sheets rustled as the body on the vast bed moved. Katara's eyes widened as the FireLord sat up, immediately alert.

_Oh no..._

"Katara?" his voice was husky with sleep and she shivered, but not from fright this time. She could not pretend to not be there; he had seen her and he was now wide awake. She stood up tall, fixed her clothing, smoothed down the wild strands of her hair and schooled her features into a look of uncaring aloofness.

"Zuko." she acknowledged, unsure of how to continue. She could imagine the firebender raising his eyebrow in question whilst his lips would stretch into a smirk.

"Did you need something Katara?" he made no effort in hiding his amusement, she could tell.

Fighting back a blush, she responded with the same coolness (she hoped) she had earlier. "No. I was just..." _think Katara_..."checking if you were alright. I thought I heard a scream."

Zuko's soft laugh filled the room. Butterflies filled her stomach.

"A scream?"

He was teasing her, baiting her and she refused to let him win. "It must have been an owl-bat." She justified, in an attempt to salvage her pride.

"Really?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Hmm..."

"..."

After a pregnant pause, he spoke again. "You wouldn't happen to be afraid of a little storm, would you Katara?"

"NO!" But no sooner had she uttered that did another clap of thunder (she had been wondering where it had gone) permeated the large room. With another loud yelp, Katara's legs moved reflexively and lightning fast towards the Firelord's bed, into which she wasted no time burrowing her small body into its reassuring softness.

Zuko was laughing so hard by the time the rumbling thunder had passed that large teardrops were leaking out of the corner of his eyes.

"Shut up!" a red-faced Katara cried from within the pillows, voice muffled. Still chuckling softly, Zuko settled back into his bed and dug his hands beneath the thick covers, searching for the waterbender's minute frame. He wrapped his arms around her (whilst she kicked, thrashed and punched) and brought her body flush against his.

Her face heated up when she realised that he was shirtless and that the warm hardness of his muscled torso was pressed up against the back of her thin and scanty nightdress.

He rasped a laugh; his breath was hot against her neck and it scorched her skin. _Stupid, arrogant firebender_...

With his arms still wrapped securely around her, Zuko shimmied down the bed until their heads rested horizontally on the pillows and the sheets pulled up to their chests. He did not let go of her as he whispered into her ear, his hot breath dancing across the sensitive flesh, "Better?"

Katara was too nervous to emit a coherent sound so she settled for a squeaked groan. This seemed to satisfy the man whose body crowded around hers: hard, safe and comforting. The blare of the thunder no longer bothered her as she curled deeper into the firebender's heat, twisting around so that her face was buried in the juncture where his neck met his shoulder.

She inhaled deeply.

He smelled the same as always; like smoke, Jasmine and faint traces of sweat. She loved it because it was distinctly his. Wrapping her arms around his bare torso she fell asleep but not before she felt his nimble fingers undo her braid, run through the thick mass that tumbled around her brown shoulders then bury his face in her hair.

They slept that way, wrapped up in each other's arms. Neither could deny that it was the best sleep they had ever had, because it was; wrapped up in the Firelord's bed, with one of the worst storms to eve hit the Fire Nation thundering outside.

Definitely the best sleep ever.


End file.
